


Jackie and Marilyn

by lollard



Category: Mad Men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 02:56:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollard/pseuds/lollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no crying in the break room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jackie and Marilyn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madamedarque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamedarque/gifts).



Not that it's Joan's place to judge, but if Don Draper's wife worked in the steno pool, she'd be gone as soon as Joan could get her out.

Joan watches the wives of these men come and go from the office, and none of them look as though they belong — not even the ones who used to work in an office before they got married. Mona Sterling is the one who looks the most as though she belongs, and that doesn't surprise Joan at all; anyone who'd put up with Roger even for a little while would need to appear unflappable.

Of course, anyone who would attract Roger at all would need to _be_ unflappable. Joan should know.

She leans against the counter in the break room, cigarette in hand, and watches Elaine and Allison talk about someone's boyfriend; Elaine's in tears, and Allison is trying to look sympathetic, and all Joan can do is try not to roll her eyes too much. Girls who maintain their calm maintain their boyfriends. It's why playing hard to get works. Men like Roger Sterling love it.

And as much of a mystery as Donald Draper is, or seems to be — it's pretty evident that Don doesn't suffer fools lightly. As far as Joan is concerned, any woman who can't manage a man is a fool. Joan doesn't know everything about Don's comings and goings (at least, not since his girl learned a few things), but she does know that Mrs. Draper shares her husband's affections.

Joan's seen her a few times. She's a woman who looks good, and in that casual way that says both that she knows she looks good, and that she puts the effort into looking good. Definitely a Jackie, but if Joan is right — and Joan is usually right about these things, it's something she takes pride in — she's a Jackie who wants to be a Marilyn, but who won't let herself be a Marilyn because it's not proper.

_She used to be a model_, Roger told her over a lunch meeting one day, as he lit her cigarette. _Can you believe that, Don marrying a model?_

_Yes, quite easily, and if you can't_, she told Roger as she shifted under the sheet (and watched the way his eyes followed her figure, you bet), _then you're spending too much time participating in the casting calls and not enough time observing_.

Roger had laughed and grabbed her rear and told her that he spent plenty of time observing women, and he wanted to observe a little right now if she'd be so kind as to finish her cigarette and show him a thing or two. Joan had given up. Roger isn't the person to talk about this kind of thing with anyhow, she knows; with Roger, it's all about the competition for dominance, like he's some kind of dog. Or maybe an aging lion, making the female lions do all the work while he has relations all day — when he's not asleep in his office, that is.

Which — Joan thinks, as she taps into the ashtray by the sink, still with half an eye for Allison and Elaine — if she extends the metaphor, would make Betty Draper some kind of delicious gazelle or something like that. With those girl-next-door looks, that charm-school walk, and those lily-white hands, she doesn't have to come out and say that her goal is to be the picture-perfect matron with sex appeal, a fit ornament for a man with ambitions. Everything about Mrs. Draper does it for her.  
 And that, Joan thinks, makes her weak.

The worst part may be that she probably thinks she's secure. They all do, as far as Joan's concerned — as though looks alone are enough to keep a man from wandering. It's certainly not Joan's place to disabuse Don's wife of her notion, but really, shouldn't it be obvious to anyone with an ounce of skill at observation how all of this works? To keep your allure, you have to stay at least a little bit of a mystery to everyone. When Mrs. Draper comes in, she treats Mr. Draper's girls both as though they're the help — _her_ help — and as though they're all just girls together. She's all surface, no substance. Like most models, Joan thinks.

Still — a successful model, and a successful woman, makes men _want_ to watch her. She _wants_ to be watched. Joan knows that, too. What makes Jackie a Jackie is that she can't look like she wants it. And there's just something about Betty Draper's eyes, something a little too adoring or trusting or questioning, that makes her attempts to be a Jackie fail, hard and fast.

It's too bad for Mrs. Draper, really. Her husband is about as good a man as they come; if he's touched any of Joan's girls, they've come out of it better than they went into it, and he's discreet. He knows how to act like a gentleman, and she rarely catches him out of it. And the way his children look when they see him coming, as though they're honestly delighted to see him — it speaks well of how he behaves at home. _Better than Roger, anyway_, Joan thinks. _Even if that doesn't say much_.

Joan wonders idly if anyone's ever spoken like this to Mrs. Draper, if anyone's pointed it out in an idle discussion that she looks too fragile, too needy, to keep a man interested after he's grown tired of playing the protector, and somehow suspects that no one has. It's certainly not _her_ place to talk about Jackie and Marilyn, or how what they stand for is a decent way to look at the world, or or to talk about the men she knows, and how none of the men at Sterling Cooper can abide weak women for long.

At least, none of the men with company worth enjoying.

She sighs — won't it all end as another mess to clean up? Either that, or Betty will just keep her mouth shut and get brittle and shrewish — and stubs out her cigarette.

And looks up. Elaine's still crying, Allison is still trying to look interested and compassionate, and Joan feels herself overtaken by a wave of irritability.

"New rule," Joan snaps. "No crying in the break room. Especially not over _men_."


End file.
